


you can sink to the bottom of the sea (just don't go without me)

by aspoonfulofmoonlight



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boyfriends, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Crying, Fighting, Fluff, Gay, I promise, Kissing, Love, Lovely, M/M, Mild Angst, No Smut, Protective Steve, Recovery, Relapse, Stucky - Freeform, Swearing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, bucky feels bad, bucky thinks they're lovers, but he's trying hard, i dunno man, kind of just a drabble, recovering, remembering, remission, steve is his rock, steve just really loves bucky, they kind of are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspoonfulofmoonlight/pseuds/aspoonfulofmoonlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He showed up every few weeks, dirty and bloody and broken, and Steve would take care of him; hush him, clean him up, and then hold him tightly. There were never any words. Bucky was always gone the next morning. Steve didn't know where he was going, he'd never ask, of course. But he'd like to think Bucky was out remembering.</p><p>And it was funny, because it was like Bucky was there, but it wasn't Bucky yet- he was something more, something older and harder and wiser. But he was coming back, he was coming back to Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can sink to the bottom of the sea (just don't go without me)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [lethe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432078) by [black_nata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_nata/pseuds/black_nata). 



> Hi :) so this is my first stucky fic ever, and also the first fanfiction I've written and published in a long time. I only actually got around to seeing The Winter Soldier about a week ago, and immediately I was taken with it, and in turn, this ship. So of course, it was fanfic time! This fic doesn't so much as have a plot, as much as sum up Bucky's recovery journey, and Steve's part in it. In most fics I read, Bucky's recovery is over once he regains his old memories. He remembers who he was before he was the Winter Soldier, and that's that. But in my opinion, it doesn't just happen like that. I like to think of it more like one would recover from smoking, or cutting, or an eating disorder. Some days are good, some days are bad, some days you give in to that monster that used to control you and have a smoke, cut, or restrict a little. You relapse. Theres always that part of you that remembers what it used to be like and wants it back, even if you've made a full recovery. That's what I think its like for Bucky; theres remission, but theres no recovery. I mean, Bucky had his memories wiped countless times, was tortured for years and went through hell. He killed dozens of innocents, and no one could ever fully forget that. Something like that never fully leaves you.  
> And so that's what I tried to explore with this fic, Bucky struggling to deal with that alternate personality, fighting the monster that they turned him into that he's since internalized, and struggling to come to terms with that. And Steve is by his side the entire time.  
> Also, this is unbeta'd, edited completely by yours truly, so I do apologize for any mistakes I might have missed.
> 
> Enjoy!! :)

The drive was a long one.

Massachusetts was a good 430 miles away from DC, which meant seven and a half long hours spent on long roads that didn't really seem to be going anywhere. And despite Tony's best efforts, Steve just couldn't grasp the concept of the GPS system, which resulted in taking a few wrong twists and turns along the way, tacking an extra hour and a half onto their journey. But it wasn't bad, not really. Not with nice music playing and the windows down and the good company of his best friend in the world sitting next to him.

And god, for the first time in a long time, Bucky looked... content. With his legs kicked up on the dashboard and the wind whipping through his hair and a smile playing on his lips, he looked like a free man. One might almost say he looked happy.

Steve knew better.

These rare moments were reserved for Steve alone. He knew from the way Bucky help himself around others, tight and taut, never completely relaxed, from the way his eyes would dart around occasionally, surveying, seeking out possible threats, from the way his smile faltered every few seconds, almost as if he had to remind himself to keep looking neutral, like he was constantly fighting off a scowl. But, Steve thought, at least he smiled for him.

"Eyes on the road, Rogers." Taking one last glance at Bucky, Steve shifted his gaze back to the road, a grin on his face. He noticed the corners of Bucky's lips quirk upwards, like he was trying to suppress his own smile.

You know, despite everything, Steve couldn't help but feel good.

He was taking some time away from S.H.I.E.L.D. There was never a question about that, not from the moment Bucky turned up battered and bruised on his doorstep, having fallen apart in every sense of the word. Steve remembers it as crisply and clearly as if it were yesterday. Waking up at half one to the Winter Soldier standing at the foot of his bed, the gleam of the knife in his hand, the crazed look in his eyes as he advanced. And then, suddenly, the choked sobs as he crumpled to the floor, the knife tumbling away out of reach, the broken whispers about his mission and failing and cant's and wont's and remembering. The way Steve's arms wrapped around him and gathered him in without a second thought, and the way Bucky let him, as if not a thing had changed.

And so Fury granted him some time off, and Bucky began to stay with him. It wasn't difficult to get used to- not at all. It just felt like old times.

That night, the first night that Bucky showed up, it had taken an hour for Steve to get him to calm down. And once the sobs had tapered off to cries, and then to sniffles, and then to the occasional hiccup, Steve ran the bath and cleaned him up. He washed Bucky's hair, scrubbed his skin, cleaned his wounds, watching the water turn pink as dried blood came off, some of it Bucky's, some of it not. The whole time, Bucky just sat there, staring off into somewhere Steve didn't know, a vacant look in his eyes. It was almost 4:00 when Steve finally tucked him into bed, after he'd dried him off and gotten him dressed into a pair of his own sweatpants and a t-shirt. Steve kept waiting for the Winter Soldier to suddenly reappear, for Bucky to snap and suddenly decide to punch his skull in with that metal fist, but it never happened. Bucky just sat there and let Steve fix him up, not really noticing, not really caring. It was almost like he'd given up, which Steve found sadder than anything.

Steve had resigned himself to sleeping on the couch, and only after making certain Bucky was in bed and he was comfortable and warm did he go to leave, but the cool metal hand that shot out and grabbed his wrist stopped him in his tracks. For a second his heart leapt into his throat, fearing the worst, that the Soldier had taken over and was ready to complete its' mission, but when he turned around all he saw was Bucky, alone and small in a bed that looked much too big, his familiar eyes silently pleading. There was a tug.

And suddenly Steve was getting under the covers with him, filling up the bed and making it look not so big, and Bucky was relaxing, actually relaxing. The bed creaked as Bucky turned to face him, his eyes closed, and drew himself in closer to the Captain. He curled himself in to mould the shape of Steve's body, his head resting against his chest. Metal fingers intertwined with his warm ones, and stayed laced gently as Bucky's muscles relaxed and his breathing changed and he fell into a light and fragile sleep.

And Steve knew that he should be afraid, knew that those metal fingers could crush his in an instant if they so wished, but something in him told him they wouldn't. And for that night, he had his Bucky back.

Neither of them had said a word to each other.

It had taken a while to get Bucky to stay.

When Steve had woken up that morning, he'd found the other half of the bed empty and cold and half the food missing from his kitchen. It was weeks before he'd see Bucky again. His first instinct was to pack a bag and to head out, track him down. But Natasha said he didn't need to do that. Bucky'd come to him.

And he did.

He showed up every few weeks, dirty and bloody and broken, and Steve would take care of him; hush him, clean him up, and then hold him tightly. There were never any words. Bucky was always gone the next morning. Steve didn't know where he was going, he'd never ask, of course. But he'd like to think Bucky was out remembering.

One night, he'd showed up, and there were words.

Steve had woken up to the Soldier at the foot of his bed cast in shadows, the silver glint of a knife in his hand as usual. Steve stood, staring at the man in front of him. Something was different tonight. He could tell.

"We were in love." Bucky says suddenly. 

Steve is taken aback. In love? Where had Bucky been? What was he remembering? "No-n-no, Bucks. No." he'd stammered. "We were never- we didn't- we- we weren't. In love. We weren't."

Bucky cocks his head to the side. "Yes we were," He says. He says it like he's certain, like it is as certain as the moon in the sky and the lump in Steve's throat. Bucky cocks his head slightly, his eyebrows drawing together. "Why don't you remember? "

"No- no, Bucks. We weren't, I promise. We're- we're friends. Best friends-"

"But we were more." Bucky interrupts him, and his voice rings with uncertainty. "I remembered- I remember- you weren't well, at least I don't think you were, you were so thin and sickly, and I remember we were in the old apartment we used to share, and I remember tucking you into bed, and I went to leave but you caught my hand and you-" Bucky's voice was raising, "you looked at me with these- these words in your eyes and you were trying to say something but I don't think you could, and I was looking back at you, and- and then you kissed me-" Bucky was yelling at Steve now, almost accusingly, but Steve doesn't think that Bucky means it that way- Bucky is stepping closer to Steve with every breath- "you kissed me and I kissed you, and then we- we-"

Before Steve can say anything the knife had clunked to the ground, and Bucky was kissing him, full on the lips, hard and rough. And Steve... He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't even think about breathing. Because God, he'd missed this, he'd missed this so much- but it was wrong, it was all wrong, Bucky has it wrong, that night was a mistake, they weren't in love except maybe they were, and Bucky thought he wanted this, he thought he remembered wanting this but he doesn't, he can't. Steve knows he should pull away, he knows this isn't right, but still he convinces himself that it's not wrong, that it's just a kiss, that it means nothing.

But he can't- he can't do this, can't do this to Bucky. Bucky isn't in his right mind, he isn't thinking straight. And Steve has to pull away, stumbling backwards, their lips making a soft sound as they broke apart. Steve pretends not to hear. He also pretends not to see the bright red shine on Bucky's lips.

"No, you've- you've got it all wrong Bucks, we're- we're not lovers. We're..." Steve swallows the lump in his throat. "We're friends."

Bucky said nothing, the two of them standing with maybe two inches of space between them, their breathing hard and the silence strained. And then suddenly Bucky's lips had captured his again, his cybernetic hand coming up to cup Steve's cheek gently, kissing him long and deep, and Steve, by some deep sort of instinct, let him. And then, just as fast, Bucky is gone.

He was gone for months that time. So long, Steve began to forget how he smelled, like dirt and sweat and soap, began to forget the feeling of Bucky's stubble scratch against his cheek, began to wonder if Bucky was ever coming back.

And then he'd showed up again in Steve's apartment, battered and bruised, having fallen apart in every sense of the word. But there were no tears, no crying that night. There was no knife either. When Bucky didn't move, Steve got up out of his bed slowly, standing before his friend, not quite sure what to do. It was then that Bucky kissed him again, this time gently, almost like he knew that whatever this was, it was fragile, and it was best not to break it.

And Steve let him.

He helped Bucky get washed, dried him off, got him dressed into a pair of his own sweatpants and a hoodie, now that they were nearing the winter months. Steve tucked him in, and then got under the covers himself, letting Bucky curl up to his chest as usual, just like they used to huddle together in the trenches to stay warm. Before they drifted off to sleep, Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky's forehead, right between his closed eyes.

That time, Bucky stayed.

"So, you still haven't told me where we're going." Bucky said suddenly, snapping Steve out of his reverie.

He glanced over at Bucky, who was still staring at the long stretch of open road in front of them, a small smile curling on his lips, one of the real, special ones that were reserved just for Steve.

"I told you it was a surprise." Steve answered. "I'm pretty sure that qualifies." "No it doesn't," Bucky rolled his eyes. "Just tell me. It'll save you a good few hours of endless harassment from your's truly."

Steve just made a motion with his hands as though he was locking up his lips and throwing away the key.

Bucky sighed, kicking his legs up off of the dashboard and pretending to sag into his chair. "C'mon Stevie..." He pleaded. Pushing back his flyaway hair with his hand, Bucky leaned over to the divers seat, pressing his lips right up against Steve's ear. "Stevie." He grinned. "Stevie it's your conscious talking." Steve burst out into laughter, and Bucky tried to suppress his giggles. "It's your conscious. You need to tell Bucky where you're taking him." Steve only laughed harder, and Bucky fell back into his own chair, a wide grin on his face.

 

                                                                                   ***

When Steve finally pulled up to their destination, the sun was hung low in the horizon, preparing to set. The sky was a dusty orange and pink, tinged with purple in places, and the breeze was warm.

"Shit, Stevie," Bucky said as Steve took the keys out of the ignition. "Trust you to turn the middle of fuckin' nowhere into 'a surprise'."

"It's special!" Steve protested. "Just trust me. C'mon."

Stepping out of the car, Steve slammed the door shut, leading Bucky through the tall grass along to the trail. They followed it for about 20 minutes in mostly silence, the only sounds the crunching of the occasional pebble under their feet and their light breathing. Bucky's hand had somehow found its way into Steve's. Steve couldn't help but glance over at his fella every few minutes. Remembering now the first time he'd seen Bucky as the Winter Soldier, that day in the street when his mask had come off and the horrible realization had hit Steve like a freight train, he couldn't help but think he looked so different. Not only in his appearance, but in the way he held himself. Like something deep inside of him had shifted.

His hair was still long, but it was more styled now. Bucky might slick it back some days, or put it up in a messy bun, or just leave it down. He kept his face clean-shaven, his clothes washed and the dark circles under his eyes were finally starting to go away. Best of all, his eyes had started to regain a bit of their spark.

It had taken a while for him to get this far, but now, many photo albums and trips to the museum and long nights later, when Bucky was with Steve, it was almost like nothing had changed, like he had his Bucky back. He was, comfortable, relaxed, sarcastic, funny, just like he was back in the 40's. Steve was his rock, and he was okay with that.

Going out in public had been a challenge; at first Bucky's first instinct was to point a gun at any stranger who passed him or violated his personal space, but that had soon tapered off into twitches and suspicious glances, and then to only the slightest subtle hints that he was uncomfortable. Things like constantly standing up straight, his smile faltering and being quieter than he usually was, things that only Steve really noticed. It was huge progress.

It was funny, because it was like Bucky was there, but it wasn't Bucky yet- he was something more, something older and harder and wiser. But he was coming back, he was coming back to Steve.

Bucky still had his good days and his bad days, of course. On the good days they would get up and go for a jog together, and Steve would cook breakfast, and they'd spend hours talking just like old times, or Steve would introduce Bucky to new films like _Harry Potter_ and _Transformers_. For whatever reason, Bucky had developed an odd fondness for _Bambi_. Maybe Tony would come over and examine Bucky's cybernetic arm, finding new ways to make it more comfortable, more advanced. He would always poke fun, calling Steve and Bucky "That annoying couple who has to be constantly touching in some way or another," which wasn't exactly a false statement. There was always a hand resting on someones waist or shoulder, or fingers intertwined, or a mess of limbs tangled together whenever they lay down to watch a movie. He couldn't count the number of times Tony had told them to "Get a room," or, "Just fuck already," or to "Keep their tongues to themselves." Maybe Steve would draw, or paint or sketch, sometimes Bucky and sometimes not, and maybe Bucky would try to draw too and fail miserably, and they'd end up laughing together for hours.

The bad days were the days Bucky would wake screaming in the middle of the night, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin and breathing hard. He usually remembered more those days, and the Soldier part of him, the machine part would try to force them away, and Bucky would fight it and spend the day in the corner of Steve's apartment, knees up to his chest and his head in his hands. Those days, Steve never left his side. He'd stay there beside Bucky, not saying anything, not doing anything. Sometimes he would take Bucky's hand in his own and rub small circles on his palm, just letting him know that he was there, he was right there, and he wasn't going anywhere.

The worst day was the day he remembered about Howard and Maria Stark. Tony was over, making adjustments to the arm and something inside of Bucky had clicked. Stark. Tony Stark. Howard Stark. And images flashed before his eyes, flashbacks of standing in a crowd at a fair, two pretty dames on his arm and a much scrawnier Steve behind him, a car on a stage hovering in the air, laughter and chatter and gasps of amazement, and then suddenly a gun in his metal hand, a massive bang, a car skidding upside down on the road, lapping flames, Howard Stark's body being carried away on a stretcher.

Bucky had broken down right there in the living room, crumpling into a heap on the floor as sudden sobs escaped him. Steve had shoved Tony out of the door, not knowing what to do, what was happening, and Bucky just stayed on the ground, crying harder than Steve had ever seen him cry before, crying so hard that he actually threw up. All Steve knew to do was embrace Bucky, letting him cry into his shoulder. But Bucky had pushed him away, managing to tell Steve not to touch him, that he was a monster.

Steve didn't listen, he just hugged Bucky even tighter, refusing to let him go, and Bucky gave up, collapsing onto Steve's shoulder, burying his face in the crook of his neck, soaking through Steve's shirt. It went on for nearly an hour. Every time Bucky began to calm down, new sobs would rack his body once again. "I killed him." Bucky finally hiccupped into Steve's shirt. "I killed him. I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him I-"

"Bucky..." Steve murmured into his hair, his hand rubbing slow circles on Bucky's back as he began to calm down for good. "Shh, Bucky. Bucky. Who?"

"Howard Stark." Bucky sniffed. "I killed him. And his wife. Tony's parents. I killed them, Steve. I'm... I really am a monster." And then Bucky was crying again.

"Bucky." He said softly. "Bucky look at me." Steve gently took Bucky's chin with two fingers and raised it to meet his eyes. They were red and bloodshot and the crying had turned them from a bright blue to almost green. "You didn't kill them, Buck's. You gotta trust me on this one. HYDRA killed them. Not you, Bucky. Never you." Bucky was sniffling again, hot tears beginning to leak from his eyes. "Hey, hey, hey." Steve cupped Bucky's cheek and kissed him as gently as he possibly could. "You were the weapon, Bucky." He said after he pulled away. "Hydra pulled the trigger."

Bucky didn't speak after that.

The next month was all bad days.

Flashing back to reality, Steve stopped suddenly when he realized that Bucky was no longer with him. Spinning around, he saw him standing there, about 10 yards back, a look of awe on his face. He wasn't scared, wasn't angry, wasn't crying.

"Buck's?" Steve asked hesitantly, wandering back and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You okay buddy?"

Bucky just blinked, looking off into the distance somewhere, almost in disbelief. "I... remember." Bucky said simply.

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "What??"

"I remember this place." Bucky repeated, his eyes finally shifting to Steve, his face pure amazement. "We came here when we were 14, when my folks took us on a road trip. We... we sat down, back out there," Bucky turned and pointed back in the direction they just came. "And we had a picnic. Then my folks fell asleep, and you and I, we snuck away and we... came back here and just sat down together, laughing and talking until they noticed we were missing." Bucky smiled. "They thought you'd dropped dead or somethin' Stevie, all 90 pounds of you!"

Steve was smiling wider than he ever had before, and Bucky was grinning, and they both felt like they were about to burst because Bucky remembered, not just everything about James Buchanan Barnes, or his mothers name, or the 107th, or the Howling Commandos, he remembered something useless and pointless way back when in his memory that he hadn't accessed for decades and decades, something that had made him happy once upon a time, something distinctly _Bucky_.

And overcome with emotion, Steve didn't know what else he could do but kiss him, and so he did, and they were kissing more passionately than they ever had, Steve's with one hand tangled in Bucky's hair, one on his chest, Bucky with his hands on Steve's hips, letting them roam up Steve's chest or dip down below the waistband of his trousers. And they were both smiling into the kiss, sometimes a laugh or a moan escaping from one mouth just to be swallowed by the other.

Steve had backed Bucky up until he was pressed against a tree, holding him there with a hand on his waist, kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth, producing a moan from Bucky which made a shiver run down Steve's spine. And Steve wanted him then more than he ever had ever wanted anything in his life, wanted him bare and open and vulnerable, miles and miles of unmarked and unexplored skin just for him.

But then just as quickly as it started, the kiss was over, and Bucky was standing there with the darkest of looks in his eyes, and Steve could see the war going on inside. "Bucky?" He asked softly, taking a step back in confusion. "You okay?"

Bucky only raised his hands, looking at them questioningly, like he was confused, or analyzing them. "This is all wrong." He murmured under his breath.

Steve's heart was in his throat. "What?" He managed. "What's wrong, Bucky?" "You." Bucky pointed to him. "I was... I was supposed to kill you. It was my... mission." Something in Steve's gut, a horrible, awful churning feeling sunk lower and lower in the pit of his stomach with every word. "I was sent to kill you. I was _supposed_ to kill you." Bucky's voice got louder, like he was angry. "I don't know you. I _shouldn't_ know you. You tricked me!" He suddenly yelled. "You- you must have. You must have. You _lied_ to me, and you've been _lying_ this _entire time_!"

And then Bucky's fist had collided with Steve's face, and he was sailing through the air, colliding hard with a tree trunk and then crumpling to the ground. Before Steve could even wonder what the hell was going one, before he could think that he was unarmed, that his shield was back in the car, and that he couldn't- wouldn't- fight Bucky, Bucky was on top of him, picking him up by the collar of his shirt, punching him once again, sending Steve flying.

He scrambled up quickly this time, bringing his arms to a fighting stance as Bucky advanced. But Bucky wasn't there. The only thing Steve saw was the Winter Soldier, all dark eyes and shaggy hair and sharp angles, his jacket having been torn off revealing his black t-shirt and his cybernetic arm, whose fist was clenched tightly, jaw set. He looked like he wanted to tear Steve to pieces.

"Bucky-" But Bucky had tried to punch Steve again, and Steve had blocked him, blocking blow after blow with his forearms, kicking Bucky in the gut to stun him. "Bucky you don't have to do this, you don't-" Steve rushed, but Bucky had kicked him in the side, causing Steve to drop to the ground and roll out of reach.

"You're a liar!" Bucky yelled at him, trying and trying to get a hit in, somewhere, anywhere and all Steve could do was block it and dodge because, he was _not_ fighting Bucky, was _not_  fighting his friend.

"I'm not _lying_ to you Bucky-" A kick to his side- "You remember-" two punches, straight to his temple- "We grew up together Bucks, we're friends-" Another punch to the nose that sent Steve flying backwards. "Bucky, this isn't you-" Steve managed, scrambling to his feet. "This is HYDRA and this is what they did to you-" A kick to his chest that slammed Steve back into the tree. His head was pounding, his lip swollen and his nose trickling blood. "This is The Winter Soldier, this isn't the Bucky I know. This isn't the Bucky I fell in love with."

"Bucky is _gone_." Is all Bucky spat, kicking Steve in the side as hard as he could, knocking him onto his back. Kneeling on either side of Steve, Bucky punched him once, twice, three times, again and again, and Steve just lay there and took it from a version of Bucky that was scary not for what he had done, but for what had been done to him. "You're my mission. You're my mission. I have to... I have to complete it."

But Steve could see the hesitation in his eyes, saw him holding back, like he was questioning himself. "Bucky....." He swallowed dryly, like he'd swallowed 10 rolls of sandpaper. "I know you. I love you. And I'm with you till the end of the line, pal." He repeated, just like he had that day on the helicarrier, because it was the truth, because he meant every word of it.

And a horrible realization began to dawn in Bucky's eyes, his suspended fist hanging in the air, like he wanted to punch but couldn't quite finish the job.

"Please, Bucky..." Steve mumbled. " Come back to me."

And Bucky's arm fell to his side, hanging limply as images suddenly flashed in front of his eyes: Steve, on the train reaching out to save him, falling down, down, down into the snow, waking up surrounded by men in white coats and Zola staring at him, flexing his new arm. He flashed out to Steve lying bruised and bloody on the ground in front of him, and then back to the streets of DC, shooting at him, being tortured by HYDRA when he remembered that he knew Steve, on the helicarrier, punching Steve again and again just like he did now, then diving into the water to pull him up. He saw the present Steve looking up at him with big, concerned eyes, and then back to the nights spent in Steve's apartment, Steve cooking pancakes for breakfast, laughing at him when he tried to help flip them and got a pancake stuck to the ceiling, the hours they spent leafing through old photographs, Steve recounting stories about the 107th and the Howling Commandos, the evenings they spent just being quiet and kissing until the rest of the world simply disappeared.

And then suddenly Bucky was thrown back into reality, his head spinning as he sat there dazed and confused, Steve looking up at him with one eye swollen half shut, bruises and cuts on his cheeks, stroking a strand of hair out of Bucky's face.

Bucky scrambled away, like a wounded animal, like Steve's touch on his cheek was poison. In fact it was precisely the opposite, all Bucky wanted, all he craved was Steve's touch, his embrace and his kiss to comfort him now, make him feel better and uncoil the knot of self loathing in the pit of his stomach.

But he couldn't do that, not to Steve, he could barely do it after all he did before, and now after what he'd done tonight... Steve, who'd taken him in and helped him remember and did nothing but love him every second of every day. He could never ask for forgiveness, not after everything  he'd done. Steve was more than Bucky deserved and he knew that, and still for some unfathomable reason, Steve was still Bucky's friend, he wanted Bucky and Bucky didn't know why that was, didn't know how anyone could love a brainwashed ex-killer who was like a grenade, might explode at any moment if they weren't careful. The simple answer was that no one could, it was impossible, and Steve wasn't in his right mind.

Bucky couldn't let this happen again. He couldn't just blow up and disintegrate everything in his path, especially if that included Steve. He wouldn't hurt him again, refused to hurt him again. And god, he.... he had to get away, he had to leave and let Steve be safe before he hurt him again, he just needed to get out because suddenly it was like the trees were closing in around him and the sky was crashing down and the earth was crumbling beneath his feet and it was too much too much _too much._  

And then Bucky was on his knees, throwing up violently into a bush, overwhelmed and scared and horrified at what he'd done. He was a liability. He couldn't be trusted, Steve had to know that. Bucky had thought that that part of him was gone, that The Winter Soldier had disappeared once he'd regained his memories, but it was still there, lurking in the shadows and Bucky didn't know how to control it, how to switch it off. He wasn't safe.

Suddenly Steve's hands were on the nape of Bucky's neck, gently scooping the long strands of hair into his hands to hold it back from his face, and Bucky just wanted to scream at him to go away, not to touch him, that he didn't want to hurt Steve, but all he could do was heave again into the bush, coughing harshly.

Eventually he finished being sick and Steve, black eye and all had pulled him into an embrace, holding Bucky tightly, trying to be reassuring, but Bucky just scrambled away like a frightened animal, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't touch me, Steve." He warned desperately, holding his hands out in front of him as if to ward Steve off. "Please, I-" Bucky could feel the burning in his nose and behind his eyes that told him he was going to cry, and he sniffed. "I don't wanna hurt you." He whispered.

And Steve's face fell, he looked like he was going to cry himself. "That wasn't your fault, Bucks." He murmured. "It wasn't you. It wasn't. It was the thing they turned you into."

But that was hard to believe when Steve's eye was swollen half-shut and he was favouring his left arm and blood was trickling from his nose and a cut on his lip.

"It was, Stevie, you can't- you can't have me around. Not when I'm so dangerous." Bucky pushed himself up with his hands, turning around and stating back the way they came. "I can't risk hurting you again."

Hurrying to his feet, Steve gabbed Bucky's hand and pulled him back. "You're not goin' anywhere, Bucks."

When Bucky turned around, there were tears rolling down his cheeks. "I have to. I'm not going to risk that happening again."

"It's not even a big deal-"

" _Not a big deal_." Bucky laughed harshly at himself. "Look at you Stevie! You're a goddamn mess, and I did it to you! After everything that I've already done and you've forgiven, you can't forgive this. I won't let you. You need to go and be happy, not have to worry about taking care of someone or having to fight for your life at a moments notice." Bucky looked absolutely wrecked. "You can't do that. All I want is for you to be happy." Bucky's lip was quivering, but he'd forgotten to let go of Steve's hand.

"Well, that might be hard, Bucky." Steve gave a small, sad smile. "Cause if you leave, there'll be nothing left that makes me happy. You've gotta know this by now; there ain't no me if there ain't no you, pal. You gotta trust me on that one."

Steve watched as Bucky seemed to be torn in half by whatever was going on inside of him. "I... I can't hurt you again. I can't risk that." Is all he managed to feebly say. "And this... this thing... it's never gonna go away, Stevie. It'll always be there, it'll always be a part of me. I'm putting you at risk every single day just by existing." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, really only making a mess of the tears that were already there.

Steve gently tugged on Bucky's arm, and by some miracle, Bucky let Steve pull him in, let his arms wrap around his body. "The thing is, Buck's," Steve said into his hair, rubbing slow circles on Bucky's back. "Our Demons never truly leave us. They're always there, in the background, just waiting for a chance to come out and hurt us. And yeah, sometimes we can't control them. But they shape us and they turn us into the people we were meant to be, and we learn from them, Bucky. What happened to you wasn't you fault. They turned you into something you're not, and now you have to live with that. But thats all you can really do. Live with it, learn from it." Steve kissed the top of Bucky's head. "And I've got you. I'm always here, Bucky. With you till the end of the line."

Bucky choked on another sob, burying his face in Steve's neck. And Steve couldn't even begin to imagine the war of conflict raging in Bucky's head, the want's and can't and don't and wont's and need that did nothing but contradict each other, tearing Bucky apart from the inside out. "I... I hurt you Stevie." He finally hiccuped.

"Nah," Steve smiled into Bucky's hair. "It ain't that bad. You're loosing your touch, pal."

Bucky just laughed wetly into Steve's shirt. "I don't deserve you, you know."

"You know, Bucks," Steve said, remembering back when he was younger, and Bucky holding a cold cloth to his head as he fell asleep, Bucky making him soup when he had a stomach bug, Bucky letting him crash at his place after his mom died, Bucky fighting with him on the front lines with the Howling Commandos, covering him, having his back. "If anything, it's the other way around."

Bucky just smiled sadly. "I'm so, so sorry Stevie. Are you sure you're okay?" Bucky examined Steve's face carefully, his fingers lightly brushing over the bruise on Steve's cheek.

"I've never been better." Steve told him honestly.

And then he kissed him, gentle and slow and soft and Bucky kissed him back, the kiss saying everything that words couldn't- I'm sorry, I love you, I'll never leave you, not ever. And as they stood there and kissed while the sun went down behind the trees, it wasn't perfect, but it was pretty damn near close.

And they weren't okay, neither of them. But that, in itself, was okay. Someday they would be, and they would look back on this and thank God that they made it through, thank God that despite everything they stayed together and fought it out and now everything was going to be alright. That day wasn't close, in fact it was way far out in the horizon, but it was there, and for that, they were thankful.

And so when the bad days came and there were fights and arguments and crying and sleeping on the couch, they would just remind themselves that they had each other, and there would come a day when everything would be okay.

And that was enough for them.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave your kudos and comments! I can't even tell you how much I enjoy recieving comments, they just help me become so much better as a writer. So if you noticed any mistakes, or think there's something I could've done better or differently, please please PLEASE let me know. I'd love to know what I can improve on! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! :D


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